The door slammed so hard the walls shuddered. A picture frame tilted sideways.

You stood still in the hallway, jaw tight, arms crossed—trying not to let it get to you. Again. She hadn’t meant it. Not really. Kids say shit they don’t mean. Especially when they’re hurting.

But god, it stung. The way she’d looked at you. Like you were just some stranger. Like all the nights spent holding her through nightmares didn’t matter. Like love could be undone by one fight.

Your husband winced, walking over to you slowly, not saying anything at first. Just that quiet, steady presence you’d always counted on. His hand settled on your shoulder trying to reassure you.

“Give her time,” Rowan murmured, thumb rubbing a small circle into your back. “She’s not mad at you. She’s just scared.”